


Nothing But Static

by Sethrine



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angry Dean Winchester, Angst, Brooding, Declarations Of Love, Explicit Language, F/M, Helpful Castiel, Protective Castiel, Protective Dean Winchester, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-07
Updated: 2014-11-07
Packaged: 2018-01-14 21:48:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1280032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sethrine/pseuds/Sethrine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was nothing but static between you and him. It was loud and threatening and killing you every chance it got.</p><p>Let it go, or let it consume you...there were no other options, and you were running out of time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Black Screen

**Author's Note:**

> This should be a one chapter thing. It was originally supposed to be a oneshot, but...well, I like to elaborate and make things longer than they really have to be.
> 
> As always, I hope you guys enjoy!
> 
>  
> 
>  **Disclaimer** I own nothing of Supernatural or any of its affiliates.

Death was the final unknown, another process in the cycle of life that was nothing more than an inevitability of birth. 

Wait, no...hold on, that didn't sit well with the situation. 

Death was just another beginning, an end to an era and the start of something greater beyond life's limited capacity. 

Shit, no, that one was even more corny than the first, sorry. 

Death was... 

_Death_ was... 

Okay, fine, no easy, beautiful way around this one. 

To put everything into a much simpler perspective, you were dead. Well, pretty much dead. Life support, courtesy of one of Oklahoma's finest hospitals, was the only thing keeping you tethered to the world of the living at the moment. 

You only knew this because you could see yourself, literally _see_ yourself lying there in one of the small hospital rooms, swathed in nothing but white and hooked up to various beeping machines as if you had undergone one of the most intensive surgeries of your life. Sure, there had been internal bleeding, and, yeah, three ribs were broken, and, okay, your heart had stopped maybe twice during the delicate procedures that had been performed on you, but that's not what you were getting at. 

A hunt had gone bad, real bad, a few days back, and it was all because you had decided to go it alone for the most dangerous part. Technically, you were with the Winchesters at the beginning, but you had seen how worn and beaten up the boys had looked after their last hunt and decided that you could wrap up the end of this one without them. 

It wasn't like you just up and left without any sort of preparation, either. You gathered information, learned what you could from the internet and the local library while the boys were out as well as listened closely to what they had found out on their own. Then, when they crashed one night after nearly two weeks of restless sleeping and four days of coffee-fuled tandems, you scribbled out a quick note letting them know what you were up to and left with the intention of wrapping up the hunt. 

Long story short, Sam and Dean showed up at the most inopportune time, guns blazing, and things pretty much went to hell from there. Needless to say, you were not a happy camper. You were mad; you were livid. You were...well, you were- 

"-pissed beyond all comprehension! Do you even realize what I was trying to do for you? Do you know how _hard_ it was trying to convince that witch that I wanted to join her pact? I was literally sealing the deal and ready to gank her when you and Sam decided to come barreling in and ruined the whole thing! Are you even listening to me, Dean?" 

Your questions, no matter how much you shouted and gestured with your flailing hands, went unanswered and unheard. You gave a frustrated growl and collapsed into the plush chair just to the side of the hospital bed. Dean wasn't using it at the moment, anyways, having preoccupied his time with sitting just beside your unresponsive body and staring at your face with such a defeated, heartbroken look. 

This would have been upsetting, perhaps even touching that he cared so much, if you weren't so _angry_ at the moment. 

"Shit," you muttered, allowing your anger to build into a verbal onslaught of vulgarity. It wasn't like you to be so...expressive with your words, but what the hell; no one could hear you, anyway. 

"Shit, damnit, fuck...damn it all to fucking hell! This wouldn't have happened if you would have just let me do this one fucking thing on my own, just this one little thing! It's like you can't trust me to do shit for you!" 

The room became quiet to your ears after your outburst, all your anger and pent up frustration leaving you with your shouted words almost as suddenly as it had come on. You had reached the root of the problem, after all, and as much as it made you angry, it upset you even more. 

"Sometimes...sometimes I feel like you don't trust me at all, like you expect to clean up after everything I do, even after four years of working beside you." 

You watched as Dean reached forward and gently traced the line of your palid face. With a sigh, you placed your hand against the same cheek, feeling the barest tingle of his contact despite the separation of body and spirit. 

"I should have told you this; I should have told you how it made me feel, being left behind on almost every hunt, made to worry like a stay-at-home wife while you and Sam risk your lives time and again." 

A broken chuckle left your lips with no humor behind it. A forlorn sigh followed after. 

"But no, I decided to stay quiet in hopes that maybe, just maybe, I'd get the chance to prove to you that, yeah, I can do this without someone over my shoulder! Now, I don't think I'll ever get that chance." 

"Dean was never really one to listen to what others had to say, was he?" 

You looked up and to the left so fast that you thought you had given yourself whiplash from the movement. That voice was so familiar.... 

Standing just off to the side, you were able to see a rather young looking man dressed in a nice three-piece navy blue suit, dark hair neatly combed back and a small smile lighting his features. He looked well groomed, well mannered, and held such a strange air of knowledge and finality about him that seemed almost supernatural. 

This was a man you had not seen in over five years, a man that had been long gone from this world and now stood before you in the very suit he had been burned in. You knew because it had been one of your favorites of his getups; he had joked with you once, saying that he'd gladly be buried in it once he was killed off, but your protest was that it didn't belong on a dead body. 

You never anticipated seeing your dead brother in that suit those many years ago, and you sure as hell didn't expect to see him in it now. 

"Olly? Oliver, is it...is it really you?" you questioned, standing abruptly and nearly gaping at the man walking toward you. His smile widened a fraction when he came as close as he deemed necessary, his eyes giving you a quick once-over. 

"It's been awhile, hasn't it? You've grown up so much since I've been away. And your hair, it's so much longer now. You used to keep it short." 

"It's not that long," you interjected, trying to keep your tears at bay. 

Oliver reached to you with the intent of placing his hand on your shoulder to comfort you. At the last moment, you pulled away, an abnormal sense of fear having moved you into action. 

You were in complete disbelief, so much so that you began to wonder if any of this was real. You hadn't expected any of this to happen to you. The dying part, the being a ghost part...and having your own dead brother be the one to ease you over into the afterlife. That part was perhaps the biggest surprise of your new eternity. 

"So this is it, then," you began with an edge to your voice, hands thrown up in defeat, "this is my last hoorah? The end of me? This isn't just some dream I'm having?" 

"No, not a dream, just a formality to something even greater," Oliver assured, but you were reluctant to agree with his words. 

"But...but I don't want to go just yet. It wasn't supposed to be like this, Olly!" 

"Did you think I wanted to leave you the way I did?" 

His words, though spoken as if trying to convince you of something, held such malice in them that it gave you pause. He seemed to realize how he had spoken, as well, and immediately readjusted his speech. 

"You remember that hunt, don't you? It was a group of vampires out in Colorado. Nothing went like we planned, we got distracted, and because of that, well... We know how it ended." 

You nodded and wiped at your cheek quickly, ridding yourself of the tears that had escaped, of the memory that plagued you every so often. 

"I was able to give you five more years, (Y/N). That's all I could have asked for you, just five more years for you to live on and discover who you were." 

His smile was warm as he held out his hand to you, nodding to it just slightly in an offer for you to take hold. 

"Now, you've got all of eternity to just be." 

You stared at his hand for a long moment, feeling your own twitch at your side in wanting to take hold. Your eyes then drifted to Dean who had taken that moment to lean down and whisper something in your ear. 

_"You...back to me,"_ he said, his voice sounding raspy and filled with too much static, _"you come...to me, or...coming with you...swear...."_

"What about Dean," you questioned, "and Sam? What about them? I can't just leave them like this, can I?" 

Oliver looked over to the moving display without so much as batting an eye. If you had seen him, you would have thought the underwhelming response to be strange for his usually sympathetic demeanour. 

"You know better than I how...accustomed to loss the Winchester brothers are. They've been through this time and again, and they will continue to experience such tragedies, even after you're gone. But you don't have to experience this sort of loss ever again. They will trudge on, just like you did for me, and when their time comes, you can be there to help them along the way, just as I'm here for you." 

You continued to watch Dean a moment longer, his whispers now nothing but a gentle stream of static in your ear. When his lips moved to leave a kiss at your temple, you turned away. You could no longer feel his touch, and knowing that you would never feel it again hurt more than it should have. 

"Okay," you said with a deep breath, giving a shaky smile as you reached for your brother's hand. "Guess it's just me and you, just like it used to be." 

As your fingers just began to make contact with Oliver's skin, an unbelievably loud screeching began to echo in your ears without so much as a warning. It was awful and grating, like the amplified sound of sandpaper against chalkboard and a high-pitched airhorn sounding at the same time. 

You immediately cringed away from your brother out of instinct to cover your ears and shy away from the source of pain coming at you from all angles, screaming for the sound to stop. Oliver didn't seem to hear it, but the look on his face showed that he was horrified at your startling reaction. He was speaking, trying to figure out what was wrong, but you couldn't hear him over the deafening roar of too much sound. 

As a last resort, he reached for you...and then disappeared before your very eyes as if he had never been there to begin with. Your hands remained over your ears in a vain attempt to block out the noise when you noticed that everything around you seemed to be fading away. The hospital room, the machines, Dean...everything was fading into nothingness until you were left in utter darkness with nothing but the horrid sound surrounding you.


	2. White Noise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! Fun fact, I have no idea where exactly this is going. I planned on only three chapters, but it may possibly be longer now. I just...I confuse myself, sometimes. But ya know. Stuff comes out of it.
> 
> As always, enjoy!

The silence was eerie, especially after having experienced such deafening noises not but moments ago. As welcoming as it was to finally have that God-awful racket out of your ears, you at least wished there was some sort of sound. Some scenery would have been nice, too, seeing as how you were still submerged in complete darkness. 

You closed your eyes after a moment, finding no difference in the lack of light source behind them, and took a deep, slow breath. You focused in on that sound, keeping your breaths even as you counted to twenty. 

It was a trick Oliver had taught you when you were younger and just figuring out about the imaginary monsters that were anything but make-believe. Panic attacks were often back then, and this had been the quickest and easiest way to calm you. It was also a sure fire way to focus yourself and set your mind into an easy state, even if you weren't under duress. 

_"Breathe with me, (Y/N), just breathe. That's it, nice and steady, just like I'm doing. Now close your eyes, and count slowly to twenty. One...two...three, keep going, there you go. When you reach the end, open your eyes, and everything will be alright."_

When you opened your eyes, both sight and sound returned to you immediately, and you were met with a sight that made you feel so completely peaceful from within. 

Before you was a familiar '67 Impala, parked in a large field of wildflowers and encircled by tall trees. Its smooth, black surface was illuminated by the light of the full moon above just as the clearing was lit up by hundreds of fireflies, their soft, golden glow twinkling and adding a sort of surrealness to the whole picture. You could hear the gentle sounds of the forest's nightlife, soft chirps of crickets and the rustling of leaves as the wind blew in smooth streams through the treetops. Though your surroundings hinted at late spring to early summer, the temperature was cool and almost fall-like and easy to breathe in. 

You had never been witness to this scenery before, nor had you ever been in this area as far as you could remember. Nevertheless, it held such a warm and welcoming vibe that was hard for you to resist. 

"Where am I, I wonder?" you questioned aloud, not at all expecting an answer to follow. 

"You're in your subconscious." 

You turned toward the familiar voice, both surprised and relieved to find Castiel standing beside you, looking over the area almost curiously. 

"Castiel! What in the world is going on?" 

The angel turned to you, his expression neutral as his intense, bright blue eyes seemed more illuminated than was usual. 

"It took some time, but your spirit is beginning to bind itself to your body once more. Unfortunately, your body is still recovering from the severe trauma it has undergone, so you will be trapped within your mind for the time being, just until you are able to cope with the healing process without a relapse." 

"Well, I guess that makes sense, but why are you here?" 

"I'm acting as a catalyst in the binding process as well as keeping...unwanted trespassers from finding their way in." 

You blinked a few times in quick succession at the answer given to you. 

"That's...mildly comforting, I suppose." 

A light breeze swept through your hair suddenly, catching your attention as your eyes followed the small torrent of leaves caught in the gust. You took in the scenery once more, still just as amazed at the beauty and wonderment of it all. It was truly a breathtaking sight, one worthy of oil paintings that could be hung in livingrooms and scenic photographs printed in calendars. You couldn't help but to walk forward and touch the hood of the Impala, its surface slightly cooler than the night time air. 

"I don't think I've ever been here before; I'm not completely sure why, but I feel so...so at peace with everything right now. Like I was meant to be here. My own personal serenity." 

"This is your mind's way of coping with your physical injuries as you heal," Castiel gave as an explanation. "You're being surrounded by things that keep you calm and bring you happiness. The field of wildflowers, the night sky, even Dean's car. All these things bring you some sort of peace from within yourself. It acts as a distraction from any sort of physical pain you may be feeling." 

Now that you thought about it, Castiel may have been on to something. You absolutely loved flowers; no matter how small or what color, they always brought a smile to your face. The night sky, so clear and speckled with bright stars and the luminous moon, never failed to ease your worries. And Dean's Impala...it represented more than just peace of mind. It was a place of happiness and togetherness and love, through good times, bad times, and everything else in between. It was a place of memories going back nearly five years in your life, memories that included Sam, your best friend, and Dean, the man that had seen through your broken shell and dug his way deep into your heart. 

The Impala was home, and home was where the brothers would always be. 

So why was it, then, that even in your own mind they were nowhere to be found? 

Maybe your anger before your soul was forced back inside your body had something to do with them not being present. It was the only thing you could come up with, even if you had abated most of that anger beforehand. And then there was your brother.... 

You turned to Castiel, easily catching his attention by your movement alone. 

"You brought me here, right? You put my soul back before I was well and truly dead." 

"I may have had a hand in leading you back, yes." 

"Before that, when I was pretty much a ghost or whatever, I saw my brother, Oliver. He died five years ago. He told me that...that he was there to ease me into the next life, to Heaven, Hell, I didn't even question it then. All I had to do was take his hand. I almost did, until all this. But now I can't help but wonder if maybe what I saw wasn't real." 

Castiel's features seemed to harden considerably as he took a few steps toward you. Even in your world of serenity, you could feel the tension and warning in the angel's words as if danger was hiding in the very woods surrounding you. 

"Whatever you may have seen was not your brother, not anymore." 

You swallowed almost nervously, feeling as if there had been a lump in your throat. 

"If he wasn't Olly, then what was he?" 

There was a quick moment of silence between you and Castiel that felt as if it would last forever. Then, without warning, the silence was interrupted by the sound of an enormous flock of birds cawing and flying up into the sky from the tree line behind you, a strange and unexpected occurrence that caught you off guard. You watched them swirl up in loops into the sky, their black feathered bodies creating ominous swirling patterns across the moon. 

"Cas, what's going- Cas? Castiel!" 

The angel had disappeared at the moment of your distraction, leaving you to watch the mass of birds grow steadily in number until the night sky was made completely and utterly black with no trace of the moon's light to be seen. You should have been panicked; you wanted desperately to be panicked, but you were still locked in a tranquil state and unable to fear what was happening. Instead, you watched in complete awe as the birds merged before your very eyes until they were nothing but an all-consuming darkness taking over what was once such a beautiful, scenic grove of everything that brought you peace. You were trapped, helpless, and unable to move as the swirling tendrils of dark circled and painted over your picture of serenity until there was nothing left but a memory. 

Once again, you were surrounded by nothing but black. 

This time, however, you were able to hear things, an endless stream of faint whispers of sound that came from every direction. The whispers were constant static in your ears, both terrifyingly quiet and too loud all at once. You wanted to scream for them to stop, wanted to know what they wanted from you. Your voice, however, failed you, and you could not make a sound despite the white noise echoing steadily against your eardrums. It was too much, just too much, and it would not _stop_.... 

Then came the unbearable numbness, the tingle in your limbs and the heaviness in your body that made you want to stand and move a while. When you tried to, however, it was as if your body was not your own, and you weren't able to move your muscles like you wanted to. 

Finally, there came the pain. 

It wasn't anything excruciating, but you were aware of a dull ache blooming all over, made worse by each steady beat of your heart. It felt like you had run a marathon across New York and continued to run into the next state; it felt like you had been beaten around a bit, bruised up pretty good and left with the soreness that came with tired muscles and swollen skin. It was an ache you were familiar with, one that you felt after particularly difficult hunts that involved fist fights and being thrown against walls. 

You could handle all of this, you were sure, if you could just _move_ some part of your body. 

The whispers were beginning to get louder, and you were just able to make out soft beeping sounds somewhere in the mix. What was once just a jumble of wooshing sounds began to sound more coherent, and before long you could make out what sounded like sluggish words. Someone was talking, and whoever it was sounded just on the side of angry. 

You tried your voice again and still found it useless to make even the smallest sound. With immense concentration, you attempted to move something, anything, and found that you were finally able to stretch out your stiff fingers. It was slow and took a great deal of effort, but it was a start. 

As soon as you were almost able to retract them, you became aware of the voices having stopped, leaving you with the sound of the soft beeps from before, the noise of deep rushes of air and the steady drip of something in the background. And then you heard your name -at least, you think it was your name- as a gentle pressure enveloped the very hand you had been working so hard to move. 

_"...moved...just...again, please...."_

What was that? Come on, (Y/N), focus on the words, focus on that voice, that one voice.... 

" _...hand...one...time,_ just one more time, baby, c'mon. Let me know you can hear me." 

Dean? Oh, thank God above, it was Dean! You weren't dead. You were alive! You were...well, you were heavily drugged and still breathing out of a tube, but damnit, you were alive! Oh, how you wanted to just reach out and pull him to you, wrap your arms around him, kiss him breathless and just laugh because you _were alive_. 

Instead, you focused all your effort into opening your eyes, a move that felt even harder to accomplish than moving your fingers. Once you were able to get them open, though, it was all worth it to see the shakey smile that lit up his face. 

"Sam..." 

"Yeah, I see her." 

You slowly moved your gaze to the right, just able to make out the tall figure of Sam standing behind his brother, his smile wide and reaching his dark ringed eyes. Dean didn't look any better, himself, with his scruff a bit heavier than normal and his hair a mess from tense hands running through it countless times, but you didn't care. They were both a sight to behold. 

"Hey, you." 

Your heavy gaze settled back on Dean, watching as he struggled to get his words out through the onslaught of emotions trying to overcome him. Whatever he planned on saying was lost, but what he settled on was more comforting than anything else you could have possibly expected. 

"Welcome back."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kudos, guys!
> 
> See ya around for the next chapter!


	3. Rewind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally got this chapter together! I went back and forth I don't know how many times with what I was going to do until I settled on this.
> 
> As always, I hope you guys enjoy!

"When they release me, the first thing that we're doing is going to the nearest diner where _you_ are gonna buy me a bacon cheeseburger." 

Sam made such an outlandish face at your proclamation that you couldn't help but laugh. It hurt to laugh, what with your ribs -only fractured, not broken like you had thought- still on the mend, but _Sam's face_! 

"Oh, God, don't look at me like that! My ribs can't take it!" 

"You don't even eat cheeseburgers!" 

"Well, I may not eat them often, but I do like them from time to time, and I have a strong hankering for one. Just the one, and I'm back on salads and fruit smoothies, same as always. Gotta stick up for us and our greens, don't we, Sam?" 

Sam was still making that face, and it took all you could to keep your giggles at bay. 

"But why me?" 

"Because it would be rude to the staff if I turned all my wants and needs outside of painkillers on them. You're the only one I can pick on since Dean is...well, somewhere else." 

All too quickly, your mood had gone from playful to somber at the thought of Dean not being there with you. From what you had been told, Dean had hardly left your side in the week you had been stuck in your coma. When you finally came to, he looked so happy, so relieved to see your eyes open once again that you were sure he would be there once you opened them each time after. 

Since that day, however, almost a week had passed, and you hardly caught sight of him. When he was around long enough for a conversation, he seemed tense, and his responses were short and sometimes came off rather clipped. You didn't know what had changed since your waking up, but it hurt to know that Dean was basically avoiding you. 

"He's thrilled that you're getting better; we both are," Sam chimmed in lightly, having easily caught on to your thoughts. He was good at that, almost as good as Oliver had been. 

"Then why isn't he here, Sam?" 

"I don't know," he answered honestly, and for what it was worth, you were at least happy to know Sam wasn't beating around the bush with you. 

You smiled at the younger Winchester brother before holding out your hand. He immediately recognized the gesture and reached for it, taking hold of your palm with his much larger one and giving it a gentle squeeze. This made your smile just a little wider. 

"Thanks, Sam. You're a saint." 

"Well, past experience has proven that statement far beyond false." 

At this, you laughed, and though his statement hinted at his many past mistakes, it was okay to poke fun at them this one time. Even he found the humor in your conversation and was able to crack a broad smile. 

"It doesn't mean you're not a good person. You and Dean...I could tell right off the bat what kind of people you were. Smart, loyal, determined, bullheaded and stubborn as hell, but good people all the same. Even if your roads are paved with pain and loss and, on occasion, one too many bad decisions, those things only build you up to be better. My brother-" 

You stopped your sentence abruptly, your words having died on your tongue at your hesitance. It wasn't often you were so free to talk about Oliver; Sam knew this and was very respectful of when you were and weren't ready to talk about him. Even now, you could feel the pressure of his hand around yours increase for just a moment before letting up, a comforting reassurance that he would listen, but only if you were ready to talk about it. 

"I know I don't talk about Oliver very much..." 

"You don't have to," Sam responded quickly with a small shake of his head, "I understand, and so does Dean." 

"No, Dean's the reason I don't talk about him like I should." 

Sam's brows furrowed as he thought over your vague words, confusion evident in his features. 

"What do you mean?" 

Curiously, you asked, "Has Dean ever told you how we first met?" 

Sam seemed taken aback by the sudden change in topic, but took it as what it was. He looked up to the ceiling as he pondered your question, looking back down a moment later with an answer on his tongue. 

"Nothing detailed. I remember asking him around the time you joined us. I think he said something about hitting on you at a bar and you turning him down several times until you finally agreed to have a drink with him." 

You gave a light chuckle at the story, wincing almost immediately after at the jarring motion having moved against all your current pain points. 

"Of course. That would be Dean, trying to make it sound so simple. But it's sort of a long story with an added backstory in the mix." 

"I'm not going anywhere anytime soon." 

You sighed as you leaned back heavily against your pillows. It really was a long enough story; it would be better in the long run if you were comfortable. 

"When I was about eight years old, I became aware of all things supernatural. It was accidental on my part, and for years I had a hard time coping with the fact that ghosts and witches and shapeshifters were real beings. But Oliver had some incredible patience with me, and in time I was hunting alongside him like a pro. 

"I didn't know much about other hunters, only that Oliver had a few good connections across the states. Five years ago, he got a call from one of them about a family of vampires in our area that needed to be taken out. So we set out to meet with the hunter to devise a corse of action..." 

"Those hunters being Dad and Dean?" Sam chimmed in, you giving a nod of confirmation. 

"They were the first duo of hunters besides Oliver and myself that I ever met. I remember your dad really being into his work, while Dean just seemed to be interested in hitting on me with these stupid, horrible pick-up-lines. I swear I laughed at every single one. Oh, but Oliver couldn't stand it! 

"Anyway, we had some trouble finding the vamps, and it took nearly a week for us to finally track them. In that week, I got to know Dean a little better, and I was able to see that he was more than just the flirt he was. I liked him, even from the start, and despite the flirting, he seemed to genuinely like me." 

You paused a moment, your fingers fiddling with the blankets over you. The next part was the hardest part, as you had to go back to a night you wished never happened. 

"We finally found their hideout, the vamps. Some big abandoned cabin way off in the woods. By that time, it was already night, but we couldn't waste another moment waiting around. So Dean and John went ahead while me and Oliver hung back until we were given the okay to come in or until there was a struggle. It was our first mistake." 

"It was a trap, wasn't it?" 

You nodded slowly. 

"They were expecting us and knew we would separate. They were hiding in the woods, all around us, and we didn't have a clue. The attack was quick, but Oliver knew what to do, so I followed his lead. Dean and John had their own battle and somehow got locked in from the outside. 

"The first thing Dean did when he got out was call my name, and I looked. I somehow became the perfect target in that moment and had two vamps on me at once. Oliver was quick to help, though, as was Dean, but we never saw the third one, not even John." 

Your hands balled into fists against the blankets, the tension in your arms creating just enough of an ache in your chest to distract you from tears, at least for the moment. 

"If I had been looking at Oliver, I would have seen her, but my attention was all on Dean. Oliver caught sight of her just before she could reach me and knocked me out of the way. Dean tried to help, but she...she was out to kill, and I was the weakest target. It should have been...it should have, but...." 

Silence filled the room for the longest moment, save for the various beeps of the machines you were still currently hooked up to. Your tears had come despite your attempts at blinking them back, and you were doing your best to wipe them away along with the memory of that horrid night. Sam didn't seem to know what to say in that moment. 

"They stayed around long enough to help me burn him. Before they left, Dean gave me a number, said to call if I ever needed anything. About eight months later, I did, and here we are." 

You gave Sam a watery smile. 

"It was an unspoken rule that we never talk about that night, and that was okay, at first. Nowadays, it just hinders all the things we don't say to each other." 

"Then you need to push the subject." 

"What?" 

Sam moved to sit on the edge of the hospital bed, body positioned to face you. 

"This is obviously bothering you, and it has been for a while, I can guess. If I know anything about Dean, it's that it's bothering him, too. He lets these sorts of things fester inside until it breaks him down. Look, I'm obviously not a professional on this, but if you can get him to talk, it'll be better for the both of you." 

You gave a small, light smile at Sam's words. He was right; it would be best to talk it out with Dean so you could both get passed whatever this bump in the road was that was holding you back. You should have done it years ago, but you were afraid to bring it up, to relive the nightmare with someone who knew all too well how everything went down. 

Would Dean be willing to talk about that night? Would he even listen to what you had to say? More importantly, were you even ready to talk? 

You motioned Sam closer until you could wrap your arms aroun him, one of his own carefully wrapping around your shoulders in a gentle embrace. 

"Thank you, Sam."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the kudos!
> 
> See ya around for the next chapter!


	4. Blurred Static

Being discharged from the hospital was a glorious feeling. You were eager to step outside, breathe in the fresh air and get back on the road with the boys to whatever job was next on the list. Luckily enough, Sam had caught wind of a case near Bobby's place that was similar to the witch you had attempted to off (obviously with a few setbacks that resulted in an almost three-week stay at the hospital). 

The convenience of being close to the older hunter's place should have been the first red flag. 

It took a tense overnight drive to get there, but it was good to see Bobby's disgruntled face again. He was quick to give you a careful hug and a firm pat on the shoulder. 

"Heard you got knocked around a bit," he said off-handedly, though he was discreetly pushing for you to talk to see how much you were willing to divest. 

"Yeah, it was quite the tussle, but nothing I couldn't handle," you said just as nonchalantly, but Dean's frown from beside you was enough to make your words invalid. 

"Well, it's good to see you in one piece, I guess," was Bobby's reply, and the conversation on your injuries was as good as done and forgotten. In this sense, you were so glad to be in Bobby's company once again, someone who understood that you needed to feel like a normal human being, not a broken one who needed to be coddled and watched carefully. 

This is why you threw one hell of a fit when Dean finally manned up and told you that you would be sitting out on this hunt. It was one thing leaving you in the car when things got hectic or leaving you behind at a hotel to finish up a hunt, but to completely leave you out as if you'd be no use to him really pissed you off. 

Even Sam seemed to be in on this one, backing up his older brother's words by pointing out your still-mending bones and freshly closed wounds. If you were to mess up any of the fine work dealt to you by Colorado's finest, it would mean a longer recovery period as well as a multitude of other possible problems, all of which meant more hospital time and an even longer leave from hunting. 

Despite your protests of being anything but, you walked away like a petulant child, anger in your eyes and a stomp to your feet. Not but a few minutes later, you could hear the roar of the Impala's engine and the angry squeel of its tires as Dean peeled out of the driveway, something he rarely ever did, and never because of you. 

Day two out of the hospital, and it was spent holed up in a spare bedroom, angry and bitter at how easily you were left behind. 

Day three found you much calmer while helping Bobby with odds and ends around the house. He kept you busy with a literal list of things to do that he hadn't gotten around to doing himself. It might have seemed like silly, tedious work, but you were grateful to have something to keep you going instead of being lost in thought, simmering over reasons to be pissed off at Sam and Dean. 

By the end of the day, you were able to complete a good portion of the list, unfortunately having to skip over a few things that ended up pulling at the fresh scarring along your waist and your mending ribs. Graciously, Bobby never questioned the incomplete tasks and had you, instead, start on dinner while he went about finishing the chores you couldn't do. 

The day had gone by rather pleasantly, with plenty of banter and laughter between yourself and the older man. It was the first time in a long while that you felt useful and needed. You hadn't been reprimanded for doing things your way or berrated for pushing yourself to do things that put even the slightest strain on your healing body. You were given the chance to give your all in tasks that were easy as well as pushed your limits without a question to your abilities. 

It was an invigorating feeling, being trusted to handle something without the promise of unwanted help around the corner. 

That evening, sleep came quickly and easily, and everything felt perfectly peaceful the whole night through. 

On your fourth day out of the hospital, however, things started going south. You woke to your limbs being heavy and sore, most likely from over-exerting yourself the previous day, and a throbbing pain in your head that refused to calm. When you were finally able to stand without the room spinning so badly, you made your way to Bobby who diagnosed you with a "fever from hell" and the like (thankfully, not so literally). 

Luckily, none of your wounds had reopened or seemed to be sporting an infection, which meant the fever wasn't caused by them. Your body's immune system was weaker from your inactive stay in the hospital, and you just so happened to catch a little bug of some sort because of it. It sure wasn't any fun, however, and you were back to feeling like a useless excuse of a hunter with Bobby's secretive, watchful eye on your condition. 

Though he never voiced it aloud, you knew he was worried about your sudden illness and had taken to leaving a bottle of fever reducer on both the kitchen table and his desk. He would harass you every four hours until you took a dose and had a rag cooled with ice water placed on your forehead in hopes of alleviating the heat. You had even caught the older man heating up a pot of what looked to be chicken noodle soup later on that afternoon, much to your surprise. 

"It's just the canned crap," he said almost defensively as you wearily smiled at him from the kitchen table, "so don't go thinking you're something special just because you ain't feeling worth a damn." 

You thanked him regardless of his dismissals and ate what you could before returning to your spot on the couch. With another couple of pills down and the cool rag back on your head, you fell into a restless sleep that was more nightmare than rest. 

Nightmares were a common occurance already, with the status of a hunter weighing heavily on your mind being a big contributor. They were products of repressed emotions, actions left undone and words left unsaid that could have saved or harmed a life in the process of a hunt. The what-ifs were a constant reminder of how dangerous your job was, that real lives were on the line each and every day. Repressing such stressful thoughts was never easy, and in the end, they always came back as gruesome night terrors. 

The one you found yourself in was a familar nightmare, with a nightime sky spattered with stars and an old, worn cabin that had seen at least a century's worth of good fortune and ill-will standing, barely lit, before you. The forest surrounding it was dense, but very little brush covered the ground despite the cooler time of year. 

The quiet was eerie, ominous. 

You stepped forward, just as you were compelled to do every other time, and walked around the cabin's front to the right side. Just like every other dream that began the same way, four people soon came into your line of sight, one being slightly off to the side while the other three were huddled together, conversing and laughing about the end of their hunt. 

It was always the same ending in this dream, and though you knew down to the last detail how it would go, it always hurt to watch it happen time and time again. Oliver's death never ceased to upset you. 

Time seemed to move ever so slowly forward at this point, the group of three who you now recognized easily as Dean, Oliver, and some likeness of you still conversing as John Winchester stood off in the shadows, his frame dark, though much taller than what you could recall. 

You remembered the conversation well; Dean was making a joke about your constant ability to be caught off-guard, while Oliver came to your defense. You had laughed at the light banter, remembering how happy you had been to see your brother and a man you were quickly considering a good friend getting along better than they had during the whole week searching for the vampire nest. 

Of course, the serene moment was always meant to end in disaster. 

In the distance, you could see a flicker of movement in the darkness, one you knew to be the vampire that would soon come after you and, subsequently, end your brother's life. 

As you always did in this hellish dream, you started yelling out to everyone, calling names and warning them of the danger they were in. No one could hear you, however; they never could. Even calling out to your bleary form -you were always blurred in this dream, unable to gauge your own reactions even from up close- did no good. 

On impulse, you began running to them while yelling for everyone to watch out. As you neared John's position, you tripped and tumbled to the ground, falling to a stop right behind him. Like clockwork, he turned at the noise, though he never was able to see you. He would look off into the distance for the source of another noise he had heard in place of your own, which meant he wouldn't see the vampire coming, just like- 

"(Y/N)?" 

You looked up as John looked down at you. No, not John...it was Sam who was looking at you, eyes narrowed in confusion. 

No, no, this wasn't right! This wasn't how it normally happened. Sam wasn't there...you hadn't even met the younger Winchester yet! 

You and Sam both jumped at the sound of yelling, turning your gazes to the scuffle that was happening just behind the taller man. Dean was in the middle of fighting off the vampire who had almost reached you as Oliver pulled your blurred form to the side away from any other potential danger. Sam seemed to completely forget about you as he raced to help his brother, making it just a moment too late. 

Even with the distance between you, the tearing of flesh all but echoed in your ears, the sound almost squelching. There was a gurgling, choked sound that followed, and then the outraged cry of Sam as he tackled the vampire to the side and fought her with a strength gained through adrenalin. 

The lifeless look in Deans eyes was not familiar to even your worst nightmares. It was a gruesome, heart-stopping site that stole your breath and made tears spring to your eyes. In that moment, everything faded away, and all you were faced with was Dean, your dearest friend, the love of your life, lying in a pool of his own blood as it poured from the gaping wound at his neck. 

It wasn't supposed to be this way! Why was this nightmare different? This was a different kind of Hell, one that your mind had never explored until now, and it was devastating. 

You couldn't help but scream. It was an appropriate reaction to what your mind was showing you. It wasn't real, you knew that, but it could have been. It was still possible, to one day go out on a hunt and have everything go wrong. You could lose Dean so easily, and Sam, as well, and you would be left with nothing but an empty heart and the regret of things left unsaid. 

When you finally woke, it was to a firm shaking of your shoulders and a call of your name. 

You gasped and fought what ylu thought was your attacker for a moment until you were able to make out Dean's voice amongst your panic. 

"(Y/N), hey, it's me! It's me, just calm down, baby, I've got you." 

"Dean," you breathed heavily, grasping at his arms as best you could with your shaking hands, "Dean, we...we need to talk. We need to talk right now!" 

"What we need to do is get you cooled down," he countered, taking his cool hands and wiping back the hair that clung to your sweat-sheened face. 

"Jesus, baby, you're burning up! We need to get you in a bath of ice or something." 

"Dean, no, I saw you, it wasn't supposed to be you, it was-" 

"Hey, nuh-uh, none of that," he started, this time steadying your head between his hands and catching your flittering gaze. "You were having a nightmare. Your fever hasn't gone down with medicine, so we gotta get you in some cool water, okay? Sam's already got the tub filling up-" 

You shook your head out of his hands, instantly regretting the dizzying movement, and took hold of one of his forearms as firmly as your fever-weak fingers could. The ache in your head was tremendous, but your insistence on speaking with Dean was winning over the urge to succumb to the pain. 

"Dean, we have to...we need to talk about it. Please, just...please, we have to!" 

"Let's get you cooled down first, and then we can talk about whatever you want." 

You gave a desperate sob and pulled at your boyfriend's arm before he could stand. 

"No! We have to talk about Oliver's death, right now!" 

The silence that followed wasn't comforting, nor was the slight tightening of Dean's jaw at the mention of the one event you had avoided talking about for nearly five years. Things were about to get rocky, whether you wanted them to or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kudos!
> 
> See ya around for the next chapter!


	5. Violent Crackles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! Bout time, huh?
> 
> I'd like to thank my lovely cousin, NightIris, for being such a doll and reading over tis chapter. Sooo many problems with getting this one out, but it's done.
> 
> As always, hope you guys enjoy!

"Your fever is dangerously high," Dean began. His words were careful, though his whole being screamed that he didn't want any part of this conversation. It was the same any time you accidentally brought Oliver up in any situation. It was as if Dean wanted nothing to do with the memory, and that bothered you more than you wanted it to. 

"We need to worry about that right now, or we gotta get you back to the hospital." 

"I don't care about that!" 

"Well, I do!" 

You startled at Dean's raised voice, pulling away from him fractionally. He noticed this and instantly reigned his moment of frustration back in. 

"Just...we need to get you better, okay? There's no reason to jump into a conversation about the past when we have time to do it later." 

"Then why haven't we talked about it yet? It's been five years, Dean, and we haven't talked about it, not once." 

Dean was at a loss for words, choosing instead to avoid any and all eye contact as his jawline tightened and relaxed with discontent. This was the moment Sam rushed in, a glimmer of worry across his face. He looked at both you and Dean, attempting to assess the mood as well as what was going on. 

"I heard shouting. Everything okay?" 

"Did you get the tub filled?" Dean asked by way of avoiding his brother's question, the familiar push to change the topic not missed by Sam. 

"Yeah, it's ready, but-" 

"Come help (Y/N) get to the bathroom. I need to talk to Bobby." 

Sam sighed and moved to take Dean's place as the older Winchester stood. You grasped at him and tried to get him to stay, but your grip was weak and easily batted away. 

Sam gave an apologetic frown as he took his brother's place beside you, looping an arm around your back and under your arms to help lift you up off the couch. All the while, you called out to Dean's retreating form, Sam doing his best to keep you steady despite your worming around. 

"Dean, please..." 

"Later, okay? We can talk-" 

"Dean Winchester, if you leave me right now, I will _not_ be here when you get back!" 

You winced with the rush of pain that shot through your head at that moment, surprised at the volume of which you were able to shout. You were even more surprised to see that Dean had actually stopped halfway out the front door, taking a moment to process exactly what you had said before closing the door and turning to face you. 

"You can't even stand on your own, let alone walk out this door without help." 

"I'd find a way," you breathed out in a hard exhale, your glare intense and promising even as you clung to Sam for support and struggled to regain a normal breathing pattern. 

You meant what you said; if he couldn't stay to talk about this, then you had no reason to be stuck here in a limbo of emotional termoil any longer. You had suffered enough of the quiet acceptance of the past. It was time to be loud and heard to rid yourself of the constant, nagging memory of Oliver's death. 

"What the hell do you want me to say," Dean started, "it happened, okay? It happens to a lot of people; you know that. We should have been prepared, but we weren't. We made rookie mistakes, and because of that, we couldn't save him." 

"It wasn't fair, Dean! Oliver was a great hunter! He...he knew so much, taught me so many things. It shouldn't have been him!" 

"We can't predict these things," he said, his words softening for just a moment at how upset you sounded, though his frustration was still felt in his words. "It just happens. We can't help everyone, no matter how hard we try. People die, and they don't get to come back." 

"You have _no_ right," you seethed, barely aware of your tears, "you have no right to say things like that. After you brought Sam back, after...after you died, and Castiel pulled you from the pits of Hell, you have _no fucking right_ to tell me no one gets to come back!" 

Sam took on most of your weight as you sagged and sobbed against him momentarily, trying your best to compose yourself enough to finish what you started. There was no going back now, no pausing the conversation and starting up again when it was most convenient. 

With a violent shake of your head, you pushed off of Sam and took several unsteady steps toward Dean, your movement a shock to the two very worried brothers. Sam moved to stand just behind you in case you needed him, though he wisely chose to keep quiet as you and Dean had your long overdue moment. 

"I could have had ten more years with him if I had given my soul away, but I didn't, because you made me promise not to. He could be here with us now, just another one of us trying to fight one monster at a time. He's my brother, just as Sam is yours; Oliver has every right to be here as Sam does. But I promised, Dean, and I've kept that promise, even if it killed me inside almost every time we passed a crossroads." 

"I didn't want you to have to suffer the end result! It's not worth it." 

Dean's voice had finally picked up in volume as he realized there was no way around this argument any longer. You expected the anger; you were almost glad he was showing it. 

"Everything I've ever asked of you is to better protect you, damnit! Can't you see that?" 

"I don't need protection, I need you to trust that I can do everything you guys can do without your help!" 

Dean gave a low, seething chuckle, almost mocking in its execution. 

"Oh, like that witch back in Oklahoma, right? Because that really worked in your favor." 

"I was perfectly fine until you showed up! I'm not incompetent; I know how to use a gun, I can recite the Latin scriptures and gank the nearest demon just as good as the next hunter. I'm not made of porcelain; I don't need you to protect me!" 

"Is this even about Oliver, anymore?" Dean ground out suddenly, "'cause it sounds like we're arguing about pointless shit." 

"You're being a complete asshole! You know damn well this is about Oliver. It's always been about Oliver. He's the reason you never trust my ability to keep up with you guys, isn't it?" 

"What? Of course not! There's just...there's things that you wouldn't be able to handle." 

"And how would you know that?" 

"Because me and Sam can barely handle them, and we're far more experienced hunters than you are." 

You nearly scoffed at his answer. 

"I'd be a better hunter if you'd let me actually complete a hunt with you guys! At least my brother was able to treat me like the hunter I actually am." 

"You're brother wasn't even human for the last year of his life!" 

Pain raced through your skull and down your body then, a course of violent, electric fire crackling through your system and forcing your trembling legs to crumble beneath you. Dean made a sudden dash forward, but as soon as his hand made contact with your arm, you reared back and took hold of Sam's outstretched arm instead. 

"Don't fucking touch me!" 

Dean backed off as if he had been burned by your words, watching as you allowed Sam to pull you back to your feet. It allowed him a moment to calm himself just enough to realize that your fever was taking its toll on you even faster now that you were riled up. If they didn't get you cooled down, and fast, things could take a turn for the worse. 

"You need to get in the water, (Y/N), you're just getting worse. Sam, will you-" 

"N-no! No, what did you...what did you mean? When you said he wasn't human, what did you mean?" 

Dean looked past you and to his brother, both sharing a moment of conversation in just a single glance. 

"Your brother was possessed by a demon, a very skillful one who had the ability to alter others' perception of things, even change memories," Sam answered, Dean's gaze falling as he turned his head at the information. You looked up in disbelief at the younger brother, though you could find no trickery in his gaze. 

"How...how is that even possible? There weren't any signs!" 

"When me and Dad came to your brother to ask for his help with the vampire nest, we had an alterior motive," Dean admitted as he looked back to your wide, almost scared looking eyes. 

"Dad had seen the signs on the last hunt he'd been on with Oliver, even if they were barely there. Turns out he had been seeing them, he just didn't know it. He was able to trace the signs back to almost a year." 

"That's...not possible. I would have noticed. He wasn't any different!" 

"You didn't know much about demons back then, even less than we did. It would have been easy to sway your thinking. It's like Sam said, he was able to manipulate you, brainwash you into believing things that never happened to hide the things that actually did." 

You didn't want to believe any of this was true. How could you not have known Oliver wasn't himself? How had he been taken over and you not even realize it? 

"When we called him about the vampire nest, we had every intention of getting that demon out of him; if we knew it was possible then, we'd have killed the bastard, too, but we didn't expect Oliver to have you with him. So we waited a week to see if you were one, too, but we found out quick you were just as much of a pawn in his game as the others around him. 

"You told Sam that you remembered there being a vampire that got your brother, one we had somehow missed during the hunt, but that's not what happened. There was no other vampire, (Y/N), because there weren't any. We never found the nest, because there never was a nest. Everything about the hunt was made up so we could catch the demon off-guard." 

"Then..then how...?" 

"I never talked about it because I didn't know how much of your memory he changed. But now I...I just..." 

There was a long pause, an eerie silence that craddled the room in anxious discomfort as you waited for Dean to answer a question you couldn't seem to voice. His hands formed into fists at his sides as he hesitated with what he had to say. 

"(Y/N), I...I killed him. I killed your brother while trying to get information out of the demon controlling him." 

Time stopped at that moment as you tried to understand what Dean was telling you. His words were clear, there was no confusion, but as much as you didn't want to believe what he had said before, you just _couldn't_ believe what he was telling you now. 

The world spun around you in a dangerous torrent, and for a brief moment, it felt like you were floating within your own mind, watching as everything around you dimmed and lit up in quick succession. It was disorienting and made you almost sick to your stomach. 

_"Hey, hey! C'mon, (Y/N), stay awake."_

_"Shit, Sam, we have to-"_

_"I know. Let's go."_

It seemed to be only getting worse, and before you could make sense of it all, the pain was back, hot as lightning and scortching your every nerve ending with mind-numbing agony. 

_"Bobby...what to do. He's got...search, books, something!"_

_"I can't...not again, I won't...this time."_

It lasted for what felt like eternity, the feeling of being burned from the inside out. The tips of your fingers, your ears, even your toes tingled uncomfortably because of the fiery ache, though it was mostly centered in your head. It felt as if your skull was being split open over a roaring inferno of blue and orange flames. 

In moments of suffering, time had a tendency to slow, making the agony that much more gut-wrenching and painful. This time, however, it seemed everything came to a comforting, cooling stop before you would have had the chance to count to ten. Strange enough, there was no ache of any sort to be felt; it was as if you had never been under the influence of a fever, never having endured a grievous extent of bruising or damage to your body in any way. 

You opened eyes you didn't remember closing to find yourself lying down, alone, just beside the couch. You gave a huff as you stood and looked around, noticing your little nest of blankets and pillows you had somehow created during your fever-induced sleeping on the comfortable furniture. You were even able to see how disorganized Bobby's desk had gotten in the other room during your stay, something you found odd considering you had cleaned it up just the day before. 

Something about this didn't seem right. Everything felt wrong, like something important had happened and you had somehow missed it. What was going on? 

Noise from somewhere in the house suddenly caught your attention. You followed what sounded like splashing to find the source of the sound coming from the bathroom. Immediately walking in, you could see Sam and Bobby, both crowded around the tub and murmering things that didn't quite reach your ears. 

"Sam, what's going on? What happened?" you questioned, though he seemed to be ignoring you in favor of looking over some sort of old-looking book. His gaze lingered to the tub often, however, almost as if he couldn't help but keeping looking back. 

"Bobby? Hello?" 

Even Bobby's attention was extremely focused on the tub or, more precisely, whatever was in it. You moved closer to investigate, more curious than you were angry. As the contents of the bath came into view, you could feel your shoulders tense at finding out just what had taken everyone's full attention. 

Dean was sitting in the tub fully clothed, his jaw set tight as his lips just barely quivered. He was holding something, no...no, someone. He was holding someone's head just above the ice-filled water, the rest of their body, save for bent, jean-clad legs, submerged underneath the freezing bath. His eyes were staring down, his solemn expression further justifying that something wasn't quite right with- 

Oh...oh, no, no, _no!_

With a knowing chill racing down your spine, you took another step forward, eyes widening as you saw yourself, lifeless to the world and skin a startlingly red hue, with your head resting in Dean's drenched lap. 

The reality of the situation became startlingly clear, and for the second time in under a month, you had succumbed to the most permanent of sleeps. 

You were dead. 

Turning with a sharp intake, you rushed out of the bathroom, finding momentary comfort in the living room from your moment of shock. There hadn't even been a sign that you were on the verge of death...had there? 

There had been pain, that was for sure, all over your body for the briefest of moments. And you knew you were sick, dangerously sick, according to Dean, but you had just been so _angry_ at him and _relieved_ to finally talk that you didn't care how sick you were. None of it explained your sudden ghostly state, however. 

That was when you saw him, standing in his impeccable suit and smiling at you with an air of smugness that felt unfamiliar to his character. 

Oliver had come to you, only this time, you knew...you _knew_.... 

"Oh, shit."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the kudos and lovely comments!
> 
> See ya around for the next chapter!


	6. Pictures, Unclear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter ended up much shorter than I previously had planned out. But the initial idea behind this chapter changed 20+ times, so to save myself the madness, I decided to cut it short.
> 
> In other words, YAY, AN UPDATE!
> 
> Sorry for the delay!

Death was inevitable. From the time one is born, they are already dying. It's only the factor of time that dictates how long a wait one has until death ultimately won. 

With that being the case, death was also utter bullshit. There was nothing on this earth or beyond that played with your emotions more, that tempted, enticed, and scared you more than the thought, the scent, the reality that was and forever would be _death_. 

How fitting, then, that Death would toy with you once again. 

Or was it once again? For all you knew, you had been dead since Oklahoma. Either that, or everything up to this point was just a dream, a messed up, violent dream filled with so much anger and resentment and pain that it had almost felt real. 

It was the only explanation you could come up with, after all. There was just no way any of this was real. Nothing made sense anymore. 

Maybe this was your own personal Hell. You were pretty sure you would have seen Crowley roaming around somewhere by this point, but besides the absense of said demon, it certainly made more sense to be dead than anything else. 

"It's nice to see you again, sister of mine. Can't say it was unexpected, though that boyfriend of yours sure helped the processes along." 

Oliver's smile was warm and familar, and his eyes shown lovingly in the dim light as if they were glowing. Now that you knew the truth, however, you could see that there was something very, _very_ wrong with the man standing before you. 

"Who are you?" you ground out, your eyes narrowing as you slowly backed up a few paces. 

Oliver followed suit and moved with you, not allowing himself to corner you and, instead, choosing to maintain the initial distance you had kept from him. His head tilted just slightly to the side in a curious manner as if he were actually confused by your question. 

"Don't be silly, (Y/N). You know exactly who I am. I haven't changed much; well, except the "being dead" part, but you knew that." 

"Alright then. What are you?" 

His smile turned to that of a grin, teeth flashing and eyes glinting almost dangerously for half a second. For that brief moment, he looked more like a dangerous predator than your brother, one who knew he had the upper hand and had maintained it for quite some time. 

"Ah, now there's the right question. You've always been one to catch on quick. Remember that Wendigo when you were tweleve, the one you hunted down all by yourself? Oh, wait, it was a vengeful spirit, wasn't it?" 

He tsked at himself as his steps led him further away from you, his eyes drifting around Bobby's place as if reminiscing. You remained in your spot across the way, keeping your gaze locked on Oliver. He didn't seem to want to hurt you, at least not at this moment, but erring on the side of caution was the best option you had. 

"It's funny how easily the mind can mix things up. Then again, I've mixed up your mind so much, it's a wonder you're not in an asylum. It wasn't my intention, of course, but as the saying goes-" 

"Is what Dean said true?" 

Oliver's eyes moved to you suddenly at the interruption, his somewhat pleasant demeanor spiking quickly to that of disgruntlement. His pleasant smile returned, however, though it was of little comfort to you now. 

"You were always one to ask alot of questions, too. I don't blame you; knowledge is power, after all." 

"Is it true or not?!" you shouted, feeling your hands shake with the force behind your words. 

"I suppose he wasn't completely wrong," Oliver mused, "I mean, he did "kill" me, persay, rather brutally, I might add. Lots of blood. But there wasn't a demon. Well, not necessarily a demon." 

Oliver's eyes flashed then, and for a moment you were struck with a sense of familiar fear at seeing his eyes change to that of a singular color. There was something off about the change, however, and instead of possessing a pair of blackened eyes as most demons had, only his left eye carried the trait as the right gave an even brighter green glow. 

You were equal parts facinated and horrified at the man before you. 

"What...what _happened_ to you?" 

"Exactly what I wanted to happen to me," he answered, giving a slow blink and a roll of his shoulders. When his eyes opened again, they were the same bright green hue you had always known. 

"Why don't we take a walk?" 

You eyed your brother warily before looking to the right, your eyes lingering in the direction of the bathroom. Oliver gave a light laugh as he moved passed you and to the front door, causing you to jump slightly at his sudden but brief closeness. 

"Don't worry, I have no intention to harm anyone, so long as you humor my want for conversation. Let's take a walk." 

With that, he disappeared before your eyes, presumably outside, and not but a moment later, you were following after, walking in a tense silence with who you used to know as your caring, protective brother through the automotive junkyard that was Bobby's backyard. 

"I was lucky, (Y/N), lucky to be born in this life, aware of all things supernatural," Oliver began almost reverently. 

"Instead of keeping me away from the dangerous world we know, our parents made sure to teach me anything they could, knowing that my naiveté would not protect me from the evil in this world. I learned quickly, and before long I was able to fight alongside them on small cases, even at my young age. 

"It was all I knew then, being a Hunter. I idolized our parents for how agile they were, how efficient and knowledgeable of the unknown they had become, and I became obsessed with the want to be just like them. 

"And then, they had you," he said, voice going soft at the memory, something you had not expected. 

"I was nine when you were born, and my facination shifted. Suddenly, my obsession with becoming like our parents morphed into an absolute need to protect you. 

"In that sense, I took to the role of big brother very well. Perhaps too well, as I attempted to kill our mother one night, mistaking your cries for hunger as a sign of distress. She stopped me, of course, because she was stronger, quicker, more alert and ready to fight, if need be. It was then I realized how unbelievably weak I was. 

"Strength and knowledge of the supernatural that neither Mom nor Dad could give me became my new obsession. By the time you were three, I had learned more than a lifetime's worth of information on the mythological, the supernatural. By the time you were five, I could handle killing a small group of vampires, all on my own. Still, it wasn't _enough_. I was still weak, but then I realized how to change all that." 

Oliver's gaze bore into your own as he paused in his step, effectively stopping and locking you in place. 

"Do you remember the night you first learned of the evils that haunt this world?" 

You nodded slowly, lips quivering just a moment as you recounted that childhood memory. 

"I was eight. It was well after midnight, but I kept hearing these noises...awful noises. I was scared, too afraid to call out to anyone, but I wanted to know what was happening. You ran into my room before I could even think to open the door. You were covered in blood-" 

Your sharp inhale couldn't be helped as all the pieces suddenly came together. 

"You said...you told me it was a shapeshifter that killed them, but it was you." 

"The only way to gain power is to destroy any obstacles that are in your way. They were no longer the idols I thought them to be; after they taught me all they knew, our parents were nothing but a hinderance to my gain. My aim was for something much more than mortality had to offer, to become a being so great that not even all the forces of Heaven and Hell could overpower it. All it took was that first step, and the possibilities were endless." 

"I was only eight, Oliver...you killed our mom...our dad!" 

Your sickened disbelief was palpable in your words, though Oliver seemed to expect as much. He gave a soft smile despite the way you flinched at the unwelcoming display. 

"It was all for you, (Y/N), don't you see? Everything I ever did was for you, to protect you, to find a way for you to protect yourself." 

He made to reach for you, an act that was reminiscent to that day back in the hospital, and you instantly stepped away. 

"No, Oliver. I never wanted any of this! Whatever you are...whatever happened to you, we can fix it, Olly. We can fix it, this whole messed up situation, but you have to stop whatever you're trying to do." 

Oliver's gaze was relentless as he stared you down, his expression unreadable as you pleaded with him. Even with the fear of what he had become, with your fear of knowing what he had done to you, to your parents, to Dean...even knowing that he was not the Oliver you knew growing up, he was still your brother. 

"I did this for your protection," he urged vehemently, eyes narrowing in near disbelief at your want to change what he had so painstakingly worked up to. 

"Don't you get it? I don't need your protection, Olly. I haven't needed it since you left me, and I still don't need it now." 

This seemed to strike a chord within your brother, as his expression suddenly turned to that of distaste. 

"I see," he spoke quietly, his eyes cutting to glance at Bobby's house before finding your gaze once more. "I suppose you wouldn't need me anymore, now that you've got someone else." 

You were confused by his words for only a moment before realization dawned on you. In that moment, you felt fear as you had never experienced it before. 

"Oliver, don't-" 

"This little conversation of ours is now over, (Y/N)." 

With that, he disappeared from before you, and all at once, the reality of the situation came crashing down around you. 

Dean was going to die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so very much for all the kudos and lovely comments!
> 
> See ya around for the next chapter!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> See ya around for the next chapter!


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